The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.

My Grandmama has passed away. Her body finally just quit. She was 96 years and 2 weeks old.

I hope for a lot of things in this life. I hope that my children grow up to be good people. I hope that I acheive some sort of lasting success on this earth. I hope for the continued good health of my family. And I hope that someday I can acheive the elegance and grace that my Grandmama had, even if I only manage it for a single night.

She was a nurse, an artist, a mother. She saw war and death; she knew joy and plenty. She was tempermental, difficult to please, exacting, and demanding. She was beautiful.

I haven't cried for her, and I doubt that I will. Not because I don't miss her - I do - but because it would have driven her absolutely nuts. "Good heavens, are you crying? What on EARTH would you do a thing like that for? You'll make your eyemakeup smear and your nose red. Go to the ladies' room, for God's sake."

The next time you drink a bloody mary, spend a moment thinking of the fantastic women who made them a staple of Sunday brunch, like my Grandmama. The world is a less splendid place without her.